Wicked Savage: Chapter 25

Every time her friends try to set her up with someone new, I’m there. Lurking in the shadows. Ruining any chance she has to move on.

I know it’s messed up. Twisted, even. But then again, I never claimed to be sane.

She’s mine. Every inch of her. Every breath. Every thought. It’s all mine. Even when I can’t have her. Even when I shouldn’t.

It’s a kind of hunger that gnaws at me relentlessly. A desperation so deep, I can taste it on the back of my tongue. And if that makes me a bastard, so be it.

The days blur together. I go through the motions, but every moment is consumed by thoughts of her. Every woman I pass, every voice I hear, every whisper of a scent in the air…it’s all her.

She’s everywhere, yet she’s nowhere.

Not with me.

Even when I watch her, close enough to touch, I can’t get close enough to feel her skin against mine.

I can’t stop. It’s an obsession. A sickness. She’s embedded in my marrow, a disease I can’t shake off.

I’m back in Massachusetts, sitting in the dark, crushing my phone in my hand while I stare at the screen, my breath shallow.

I watch her respond to messages from men on some dating site. It’s like she’s trying to force herself to forget me, to let someone else take my place. But she can’t. And neither can I.

My blood boils with rage, so thick I can almost taste the venom. I intercept every message, every conversation, before it has a chance to go anywhere. I reach out to them and I make it clear: they stop talking to her, or they won’t live to see another day.

They block her. One by one. While she probably thinks something’s wrong with her.

But it’s me. It’s always been me.

I should feel bad. I should feel guilty. But I don’t.

I recall the text she sent her cousin a few weeks ago, telling her she wanted to move on. She’s trying. I know she is.

But it’s too bad. Because I won’t let her go. Not now. Not ever.

What the hell am I doing wrong? Every guy I try to talk to ends up blocking me after a few messages. It’s like I have a curse on me, like I’m unworthy of anyone else’s attention.

But deep down, I know the truth: I don’t even care. None of them are him. The one man I can’t seem to stop wanting, no matter how hard I try.

I should be over him by now. He’s gone. He left me behind. But instead of moving on, I find myself clinging to the broken pieces of us, obsessed with the thought of him, like a phantom who won’t leave my mind.

Snatching my phone from my nightstand, I force myself out of bed and head downstairs for lunch before visiting my siblings.

Lenny’s in the kitchen when I walk in, his back rigid as he stirs something in the pot. But the moment I step closer, he freezes. His gaze darts to me briefly, then quickly shifts to the counter.

“Ms. Marinova, may I get you something to eat?” His tone is tentative, unsure, like he’s measuring every word.

“That would be great.” I force a smile, but his gaze flickers to the floor, as if the act of making eye contact is too much to bear.

“I have dolma and plov, if that is acceptable, or I can make something else.” He adds the last part quickly—almost too quickly, like he’s afraid I won’t like what he’s made.

“No, that’s perfect. I love that.” I can’t help but smile a little more sincerely. Azeri cuisine is one of my favorites.

He plates the food with careful precision, then sets the plate in front of me. Heading for the fridge, he pours water into a glass with a soft clink before returning and placing it before me, gaze never fully meeting mine.

I take the first bite, the rich flavor instantly making me close my eyes in pleasure. Heaven. As I continue to eat, Sonya walks in, carrying a large rectangular box.

“This was just delivered for you.” She places it on the island. “Would you like me to open it?”

“No, I’ll do it.” My stomach churns.

Every package makes my nerves spike, because it could always be from my father. I’m not sure if he knows where I live now, but I have no doubt he could find out.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the box, a growing sense of dread crawling under my skin like a slow poison.

Sonya leaves the room, but my gaze lingers on it—that damn box taunting me. The fear gnaws at my insides, but I refuse to let it win. I won’t let it control me.

I march toward the drawer, grabbing a box cutter with steady hands. The blade slices through the packaging with a clean cut, revealing a simple white box inside. No company name. No return address.

A chill skates down my arms, my heart hammering in my chest with a frantic warning, an instinct telling me to stop. But I can’t.

I pull the box out, my fingers shaking. With a deep breath, I open it.

Six black roses lie on white tissue paper, their dark petals unnaturally perfect, like a morbid bouquet meant only for me. A cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck, my hands turning clammy. I know exactly what black roses mean.

Death.

A quiet panic settles deep in my bones, cold and suffocating, as though the walls are closing in.

They found me.

My fingers hover over the envelope, the weight of it like a countdown. A sense of inevitability presses down on me. When I finally pick it up, my pulse surges so loudly in my ears that everything else fades away.

With unsteady hands, I rip open the note. The words blur before my eyes, as if they’re waiting to drag me under.

The world tilts beneath me, the room spinning as I stumble back a step. They know where I am. They’ve been watching. They’re coming for me.

I can’t breathe.

My hands tremble as I force the box back into its packaging. I don’t even realize I’ve moved until my feet are already carrying me toward the door, every step a frantic blur.

“Are you leaving?” Boris breaks through the fog of distress in my head.

“Uh, yes. We…we need to go to Konstantin’s. Now.”

He nods without hesitation, guiding me toward the car. I climb into the backseat, my body stiff with terror. Every nerve feels on edge.

What will they do to me? Drown me? Shoot me?

The thoughts spiral, every scenario more gruesome than the last. I squeeze my eyes shut, the images searing through my mind like a nightmare that won’t end.

The drive feels endless before we pull up to Konstantin’s place. Before Boris can open the door, it’s already swinging open as my legs move on their own. The box remains clutched tightly in my hands as I race toward the entrance, heart pounding with every step.

“Is Konstantin here?” I ask the men stationed outside.

“He’s in the back at the farm.” One of them grins, and I don’t miss the dark edge in his smile.

I return to Boris, who’s still waiting in the car. “Take me to the farm.”

“Are you sure? If Konstantin’s there, you don’t want to go⁠—”

“I don’t care. I need to see him now.” The words are harsh, cutting through the anxiety that’s rising within me.

Boris shrugs before I get in, and he starts the car. The few minutes of the drive feel like an eternity, but eventually, I spot Konstantin in the distance, standing by a fence that holds over thirty pigs.

When the car stops, I jump out and rush toward Konstantin, catching his attention as he wipes his hands on a towel.

“Dinara?” he calls, his stare narrowing with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“No…” The word is barely a whisper, caught in my throat.

My gaze flickers down to the crate next to him.

“Are those…?” The words stick in my mouth.

“The remains of your father’s men.” His voice is cold, almost clinical. “They were a problem. Pigs like meat. It’s better than letting them go to waste.”

I can’t take it. My stomach turns violently, the bile rising in my throat. I choke it down, forcing myself to look away, to breathe through it.

“Can we talk somewhere else?” I ask in barely a whisper, trying not to look down at the severed body parts.

Konstantin nods, leading me away from the gruesome sight. The air feels colder, heavier as we move further from the chaos.

“So, what’s in the box?” He glances at it casually.

I swallow hard, pushing down the panic that threatens to rise in my throat. “Black roses. From Roman.”

Konstantin chuckles darkly. “Your brother doesn’t learn, does he? Always daddy’s little bulldog. But he’s nothing more than a yapping chihuahua. Woof, woof.”

“I’m scared, Konstantin.” The words barely escape my lips. “They know where I live now. They’ll come for me.”

He halts in his tracks, his expression softening just enough for me to see a flicker of concern.

“I understand your fear.” He steps closer, his tone calm and reassuring. “But my men will protect you. They know what happens to them and their families if they don’t. They’ve seen it. No one will set foot on this property. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Even with his words, the storm inside me won’t settle. The terror still claws at my chest, suffocating and relentless.

“If you want to stay with me for now, you can. Whatever you need.”

I hesitate. It’s tempting—so tempting. But I don’t want to run. I don’t want them to know how afraid I truly am.

“May I think about it?”

“Of course.” Konstantin reaches for the box, taking it from me. “I’ll keep this for now.”

I nod, happy to be rid of it.

“I’m going to see Gregory and Tatiana,” I tell him.

“Good. But you’re always welcome here. I still have your room, just like you left it.”

A small grin tugs at my lips. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in a few hours. I still have the pigs to feed.”

I nod and turn away from him, my heart heavy with dread. I don’t know how to forget the note, the black roses, or the sickening threat they carry.

They haven’t stopped thinking about me, and now I can’t stop thinking about them.

And I know for certain, this is just the beginning.